Amelia Edson with Little Monkey during a children’s moment

When I was four my aunt and cousin came to live with us. With my cousin came his things—toys, books, blocks.  I, previously an only child, had a hard time adjusting to the concept that my house now contained things that were not mine. Specifically, I became fixated on a stuffed monkey who we named Little Monkey. Little Monkey was one of the best toys Andrew had. He was not necessarily one of the best toys that I had, but I was obsessed. I carried him around the house and refused to be separated from him.

When it came time for my Aunt and cousin to move into a place of their own, my mother and my aunt agonized with what to do about the stolen Monkey. I was eventually told that I could have him “on loan” until my cousin got settled in. The grown ups told me that he wasn’t mine, and worked hard to establish the facts with me and my cousin. Yet, Little Monkey has never made his way back—he traveled to college with me, to several states, and now is a plaything of my own children and an occasional participant in church children’s moments.

The tricky thing about having something that doesn’t belong to us for long enough is that, eventually, we begin to believe it is ours. Perhaps this is what happened to the manager. He had been in charge of his Masters estate, making decisions, tallying up debts, for years.

By the time the master came home and realized that the manager needed to be let go, it seemed like he was trying to take away something that rightfully belonged to the manager.

This happens to all of us, occasionally. It happens to children, all the time. Perhaps you remember telling your parents that you didn’t have to clean your room because it was YOUR room— or perhaps, more recently, someone has made that argument to you. It was one of my favorites. This room is MY ROOM, I would insist, forgetting that my parents gave me the room, that my family lived with me. Questions of ownership are often more complex than is immediately apparent.

It happens to grownups, too. Many people object to affordable housing in their neighborhoods. It is not because they don’t want to help the poor. They just don’t want it in their building, in their neighborhood—that part of the city is theirs, and they want to keep it for themselves.

It is easy to forget that we did not acquire our blessings on our own; we had families, and networks, and advantages, that helped us. It is easy to forget that, in God’s creation, nothing is truly ours, because everything fundamentally belongs to God.

Walter Bruggeman has said that “finding out who things belong to and returning them” is the entire work of justice. Perhaps if we could just be honest about what is ours, and what, rightly, is other people’s, we would live in the kingdom of God.

God rules (and owns) the world. Being honest about the blessings we receive here on this earth is a good way to get ready for the true riches of God’s kingdom. It is good, hard, heavenly work.

All that being said, I’m keeping the Monkey.